


Little Mercies

by amanda_jolene



Category: Shawn Mendes (Musician)
Genre: Gen, Native American
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-07-08 21:50:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19876642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amanda_jolene/pseuds/amanda_jolene
Summary: Shawn meets Molly, an Indigenous writer, and nothing is ever the same.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you for reading my little story!

Chapter One

Shawn is sweating through his shirt. It’s unfortunate, really, because he can’t remember if he put on deodorant. Cologne, yes, but somewhere between washing his face and the cologne he lost track of time and he’s acutely aware of the fact that there’s a huge chance he didn’t put on deodorant. And now he’s sweating because the room is a tad warm and he’s surrounded by older people he doesn’t really know and this whole night just feels like a shit show waiting to go wrong. He’s waiting for one of these late-twenty year olds to remember that he’s a dumb kid parading around in a sweaty designer shirt and kick him out. Not that Teddy would let anyone kick him out, but still. It just feels like the other shoe is about to drop.

Plus, he probably smells.

Teddy had asked him how he was doing not even five minutes ago, and Shawn had lied right to her face when he said fine. What he really wanted to say was his life felt messy and unstable and he was sweaty and really wanted to go home. Happy birthday, Teddy. But he just smiled, said fine, sipped his beer, kept sweating.

And then someone turned on country music. Not even like today’s best country hits, but 90s country. That twangy sound and lyrics about when boy meets girl sang by a woman who probably couldn’t even book a gig these days. Shawn’s mouth went dry. Worst night ever. He needed a water. There was bottled water in the fridge, that’s what Teddy had said, but how stupid would it look to be caught with a plastic water bottle when he had his own eco-conscious line of boxed water? He opted for a glass and tap water, cringing at how lukewarm it was but not caring quite enough to actually bother with ice.

“I love this song.” A voice said beside him. A hand shot in front of him, grabbing a paper towel. “Whoops, sorry. Had a sangria spill.”

He pours the rest of his water in the sink, rinsing his glass. “This song?” His ears strain to pick up who the artist is but he can’t place the voice. “This one?”

“Yes, this one. “

“Sounds a little…” he trailed off, not sure what he’s trying to say but knowing that telling this stranger her favorite county song sounds, well, country is pretty redundant.

She takes his lack of appropriate descriptors to be an insult and turns to face him about the same time he turns to face her. Shawn is taken aback. She’s young, like, probably the youngest person here. Younger than him, definitely. And short.

“I will not tolerate anyone insulting George Strait in my presence. Please apologize.”

“I-“ Shawn stumbles over himself. “Sorry? I didn’t mean- it’s not that I don’t-“

She laughs then, pretty head thrown back as she holds her glass of sangria away from her so she doesn’t spill it on her pretty blue dress. Her long dark hair is braided in a single plait that wiggles off her shoulder, revealing more impossibly tan skin. “I’m fucking with you. I do love this song and 90s country but I have no idea who thought it was a good idea to play it in Teddy’s house of all places.” She smiles at him, red lips parting to blinding white teeth. “I’m Molly. You look so familiar.” She waves her free hand at him, dismissively. “I mean, I’m sure I have seen you somewhere. I’m just not good with names.”

“I’m Shawn.”

“Shawn,” she repeats, holding out her hand for a shake. “Sounds familiar, too. Throw me a last name?”

“Mendes.” His cheeks flood. It’s not often he has to introduce himself like this.

“Right! Gotcha! Superstar Shawn. Teddy talks about you all the time. I’m more friends with Emily but-“ she trailed off, pulling a yikes face.

“How is Emily?” Shawn asks. It had been weeks since Teddy and Emily split and Shawn wasn’t sure how the latter was doing since his friendship was almost exclusively with Teddy.

“Good. Healing. Growing. That sort of thing.” She took a drink from her glass. 

“Does Teddy know that… you’re in here drinking?” He asks tentatively.

Her eyebrows knit in confusion. “Why would Teddy care?”

He’s aware that he’s sweating again. Not that he had ever stopped but her eyes are intensely brown and she’s staring at him and he’s sure he probably just said something stupid. What the fuck, was he the hall monitor now? “It’s just that… you know, it’s like… 21 is the drinking age and I have zero room to talk at 20,” he motioned to his abandoned beer on the counter. “But you’re like really, really young and I just-“ he stops when her mouth makes a little O in surprise.

“Oh,” she shakes her head, suddenly looking less confused and more fond. “You sweet summer child. I’m old enough to be your mother.”

His mouth popped open. “No.”

“Ok, well, no. That was a huge exaggeration, but I’m old enough to drink by several years.”

“No.”

“Yes,” she sat her glass down and rummaged through her purse, pulling out a slim wallet. With much fanfare, she presented her license. Molly Anne Tulane. DOB: 10/31/1992. He’s shocked by the date of birth and by the fact that it’s an Alabama driver’s license, which explains the accent he just wasn’t quite sure of.

“A spooky baby,” he hands her back her ID, referencing her Halloween birthday. He catches a glimpse of another ID when she opens her wallet back up. “Is that your fake ID?”

“Tribal ID,” she sticks her tongue out. “I’m not the baby here, remember? I don’t need a fake ID.”

Even his ears turn red. He can feel them grow so hot, he’s surprised they haven’t burst into flames. “Tribal ID? Like…”

“Like Native. I’m Mvskoke.”

Shawn doesn’t want to admit how clueless he is when it comes to Indigenous people or tribes. He’s a white kid from Canada. He should do better, he thinks. Especially since he doesn’t want her to think he’s ignorant. Molly smiles like she knows he’s having this internal battle, but she doesn’t say anything. Just takes another sip of sangria.

“I don’t know anything about-“

“It’s ok. I mean, it’s not ok, but public school failed y’all hard. But there’s a lot of good books out there written by Indigenous writers.”

It’s a strong hint that he should educate himself. He will, he promises himself. He definitely will.

“What do, uh, what do you do?” That’s an adult question, right?

“I’m a writer,” she smiles. “Fiction. Sometimes young adult. Mostly horror. And you’re a musician, of course.”

He likes the way she says it. Musician. Not artist, not rock star. Musician. “Yeah, I am.” He ducks his head, feeling a little shy. “It’s like… really hot in here. Or is it just me?”

She makes a face. “No, it’s definitely warm. It doesn’t help that I’m fat and drinking and in this unbreathing dress.”

He wouldn’t call her fat. Or even think it. She’s all soft and round, and he’s tucking his hands behind his back to keep from seeing if her shoulders feel as soft as they look. “I’ve been sweating since I got here. And I think I stink. I don’t remember if I put on deodorant.” His cheeks go hot again. Why did he just blurt that out?

There’s a pause and then she leans in closer to him for a second, his breath catching, but then she pulls back. “No, you’re good.”

“Really? Thank God. Maybe I did put deodorant on. I was stressing about getting here on time and then I lost track of time and I couldn’t remember.” He rolls his eyes. “Thanks for taking one for the team, you know, with the smelling.”

They float back into the party, together this time. There are friends to greet and strangers to rub elbows with and everyone seems to know him, but he doesn’t know many of them. He find his hands drifting a lot, resting on Molly’s shoulders (which are as soft as they look) and once they pressed to the small of her back to urge her forward when some guy tried to seriously recruit them into storming Area 51. He’s not aware that he’s following her until she goes to the bathroom and he realizes he’s in the hallway with her when she asks him to hold her glass.

“Can I make an observation?” She calls through the door.

“Go for it.”

“You seem like you’re having an awful time.”

He swallowed involuntarily. He was having an awful time. His whole life felt like an awful time at the moment. “Yeah, sort of.”

The toilet flushes and the sink turns on. A moment later, she reappears. “Want to get out of here? It’s hot and I’m kinda having an awful time, too. I’m meeting up with some friends at my best LA friend’s apartment. It’s low key. They’re probably already drunk and playing show tunes. You can say no, if you want.”

There’s a tug behind his navel. The soft sensation of making a new friend, one with no expectations. “I’d really love to go.”

It’s weird, making his rounds to say goodbye with this woman he doesn’t really know. Teddy’s eyebrows shoot up when he says, “We’re going to get out of here”, his thumb pointing back at Molly who was saying good-bye to yet another person Shawn didn’t know. He should correct the assumption, he knows he should, but something feels good about the thought that anyone would think he could be going home with a beautiful, intelligent woman who writes books for a living. “It’s- we’re going to her friend’s house.”

Eyebrows still raised, Teddy looks incredulously but still says, “Gotcha.”

Shawn realizes he still has her glass in his hand and takes it to the kitchen, motioning that he’ll meet her at the door. He pours what’s left down the drain, admiring how she kept her lipstick stain to one spot on the glass, a feat he’s never seen before. It’s an impulsive move, something he doesn’t have time to analyze or think through, but he brings the glass to his mouth, his bottom lip resting in the space of her lipstick print. Something zaps through him, making him light headed, and before he understands his motives fully, he washes the glass thoroughly so that no one else could touch the trace of her lips like he had. Not that they would, his rational brain decided, but just in case.

She’s waiting by the door, one hand fanning her face, eyes closed.

“Why is it a million degrees in here?” Shawn whines, opening the front door.

The sweat on his skin instantly cools down and he groans in appreciation. Molly lets out a sigh of relief beside him, closing the door behind them. “Want me to call an Uber?”

“I drove here,” he offers. He digs the key fob out of his pocket. The car’s lights turn on when he clicks it and they settle into the car, Molly typing in the address on the GPS.

“So, are you living in LA?” He asks, remembering her Alabama ID.

“No, just visiting.” She starts unbraiding her hair. “What about you?”

“Same. I live in Toronto.”

“I stay there sometimes. My friend lives there and we’re writing this epic book together so I stay with him on occasion.”

“What area?”

She tells him and then he asks where at and she repeats the name of his building. “No way. No fucking way. That’s where I live!”

“Shut up! Do you know Tennyson Young?”

The name sounds so familiar. It conjures up a guy in his mid-twenties, hair not unlike Shawn’s, and skinny jeans always ripped at the knees. When he relays this to her, Molly’s eyes light up. “Yes! That’s 100% Tennyson. Oh my god, you must be the rockstar upstairs!”

He winces. Ok, yeah, he definitely knows Tennyson Young because Tennyson Young is his downstairs neighbor that he called him a dick one time after the dude accused him of being too loud. Shawn hadn’t even been home that night.

“You have to stop having wild parties,” she teases.

His face flushes. “I wasn’t-“

“I know, I’m just messing with you Ten realized it wasn’t you and he’s terribly sorry and embarrassed that he called you a dick in the elevator. He’s just grumpy.”

“I forgot he called me a dick.” Shawn shakes his head. “Ok, so, you stay in LA. You stay in Toronto. But where’s home base?”

There’s a moment of silence and he doesn’t missed the pained expression. “I, uh, don’t have one? I just kind of flit around a lot. My Aunt Jo lives in PEI and I stay there a lot. She’s a patron of the arts, so to speak. But I just travel a lot. It’s fun. It keeps me creative.”

Shawn thinks about asking her about the Alabama ID but decides not to. But then decides he should. “Originally from Alabama, though, right?”

“You couldn’t tell by the accent?”

“It’s really not… always noticeable?”

She smiles a little smugly. “That’s because it’s turned off.” She leans in, her accent coming out slow and friendly. “But sometimes I forget that I’m supposed to be a little more worldly and my voice gets real southern.”

His mouth goes dry. He can’t explain it. It just does and he wonders how she’d sound saying his name with that same accent. “I like it. Your accent. It’s nice.”

“My ex told me it made me sound like a hick.”

“Well, he’s an idiot.”

“She.”

It throws him for a second, his heart and breath skittering. He feels a wave of disappointment rush over him and he’s not sure why. “Well, she’s an idiot then.”

“To be fair, my other ex- who is a guy- also said my accent was stupid so I think they’ve got you outnumbered. I don’t know. Southern accents are polarizing. You either love them or you don’t. And I’m from South Alabama of all places, so I know it gets thick. I can’t help it.”

“It’s great,” he tells her, that feeling of disappointment ebbing when he knows she’s had an ex-boyfriend. “Really, I love it. Say my name with that accent, please.”

She laughs, a wonderful sound that makes his body thrum, and then she says his name with that accent and he almost crashes the car. No, really. Her veers a little to the right, brain gone fuzzy, but recovers at the last minute to avoid side swiping a car. Shawn, in her southern accent, sounds longer that what is with more emphasis on the –aw- of his name.

He’s smitten.

“Are you drunk?” She demands.

“No! I wasn’t prepared to be… to… say my name again?”

“Absolutely not. Ears on the road.”

“I’ll pull over,” he suggests. But the GPS tells him his destination is on the right and they’re pulling into a nice driveway set in front of a nice house.

“This is my friend Lacey’s house. She and her wife are really cool. They write children’s books together.”

When the walk in the door, he realizes he’s once again the youngest person there. Probably the straightest one, too. Molly wasn’t wrong when she said they would already be drunk and playing show tunes, but the music stops as introductions are made.

Lacey and Christine are as cool as Molly said they were, even though it freaks Shawn out that they kind of look like twins. He also meets Faye, who is wearing a pink wig, and Roger, who is wearing a pink chiffon robe. There are other people, names he can’t and won’t remember but everyone is so pleasant to him that he wishes he could remember them all.

“This is my little duckie, Shawn.” She gives his face a little squeeze. “Ain’t he the cutest?”

“Very cute. A little young,” Roger says, raising his eyebrows and passing Molly a glass of something pink and filled with fruit. “But cute.”

Molly rolls her eyes. “I’m not fucking him, Roger. We just met. We both hated the other party.”

“I bet he’s a Leo!” Faye exclaims. “You are, aren’t you?”

“I- yes?”

Faye points an accusing finger at Molly. “You collect Leos! I’ve told you that you do and you never believe me! You fucking collect them, Molly!”

“It’s not like I asked him what his sign was, Faye!”

Roger rolls his eyes, looking at Shawn. “She does collect Leos. It’s not her fault. Y’all are just attracted to her for some reason. Magnetism, you know. And Scorpios and Leos can have some super intense relationships. Y’all both are crazy loyal and passionate about your partner.” He raises his magenta eyebrows up again. “I’m just saying. You a little young, though.”

Shawn doesn’t know how to take all of this information in. It’s a lot. Her friends are a lot. They’re colorful and loud and weird and he wants to soak all of them in. No one in his circle is yelling about collecting Leos or wears chiffon robes while drinking fruity pink drinks. And Molly called him her little duckie, which made him feel oddly safe and warm in his chest.

“Not that young,” he smiles back.

“You can’t be older than 20.”

“I’m 20 on the nose. 21 in August.”

“Child,” Roger mumbles without any malice.

“I thought Molly was like… a teenager,” Shawn offers. “Legit questioned her about drinking.”

Everyone around them laughs and Molly rolls her eyes. “Laugh it up, y’all. One day when I’m 50, looking 25 and y’all looking like your grandparents, we’ll see who’s laughing.”

His newness wears off and her friends go back to playing piano and singing Elton John, and it’s a nice change of pace. He’s never left alone at parties. There’s always a crowd around him, always people wanting something from him. It’s comforting to watch the party like this.

“I don’t condone underage drinking, but I think Christine has beer. We’re more of a wine type of people, but she usually has a few different kinds.”

“I think I’m good.” He points with his chin at her drink. “What’s that?”

“Watermelon sangria. Roger works at Olive Garden and knows all their secrets. I don’t think this is technically a sangria, but it’s delicious and we love it.”

Shawn reaches for her glass, which she hands over, and he really means to take a sip from the opposite side of her lipstick stain, but his hands turn the glass until his mouth is slotted over the same spot and for reasons he can’t begin to imagine, he makes unwavering eye contact with her as if his brain wants her to see exactly what he just did.

She makes a funny noise in the back of her throat, mouth quirking up at the corner. “Good?”

He swallows. Nods. “Yeah.”

“Do you want a glass?”

“No,” he says, his voice small. “We can just share, right?”

“Don’t drink it all,” she pulls the glass away from him.

They share her glass all night and no one says anything about it, so they share a chair, and a piece of cake at midnight when Roger blows out his candles.

“We don’t actually know when his birthday is,” she whispers in his ear as they sit thigh to thigh on the patio. “Roger tells us when he wants his birthday to be. Sometimes he has two a year. Sometimes he doesn’t have one for three years. He just decides.”

Shawn turns his face so that her sweet breath warms across his cheek before he turns to face her. He could kiss her. Tonight was all about indulgence, right? He never left Teddy’s parties with strangers, especially not to go to a party filled with more strangers. He didn’t share glasses of sweet wine with beautiful Indigenous women or eat cake from their fingertips at midnight. He could kiss her. He could. He wanted to.

But when he leaned in, she caught his chin softly in her hand, giving it a light squeeze. “You’re drunk, duckie.”

“Not,” he tried to argue. He was, though, wasn’t he? Drunk on sangria and longing and he just wanted to-

She gives his chin another squeeze as he pushes forward again. “You’re so beautiful and young, Shawn. I just…” she searches his eyes. “I should probably get you home.”

He remembers giving her the address for the place he was renting. Remembers getting into the back of the Uber. Remembers being in the bedroom with Molly as she helped him out of his shoes. She washed his face, he was sure of that. But then she was gone and he woke up all tucked in nicely with a slip of paper on his night stand.

When he calls her, he plans to ask her out on a date. But she’s in Colorado, waiting on a connecting flight, and he doesn’t get the chance. He talks her through a two hour layover, then goes to get his car from Lacey and Christine’s. Apparently he looks despondent enough for them to invite him in and make him eggs and send him home with a piece of cake.

LA doesn’t feel right anymore and he feels like he’s about to burst out of his skin. When she calls to tell him her plane landed safely in Maine, he bites down hard on his hand to keep from asking where in Maine she is and if he can come, too. His bags are packed. He could be there by tomorrow.

But he settles for going home.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three weeks since Molly and Shawn met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Just wanted to put a little warning on this one for a panic attack. We learn a little more about Molly and her mental illness in the chapter. Thanks for the kudos, comments, and reads!

_I just saw Tennyson in the elevator._

_I think he was going to say something to me._

_But I blurted out ‘I know Molly!’_

_And he looked at me like I was nuts and got off the elevator_

_Send help pls._

Molly can’t help the smile that sneaks its way onto her face, her eyes rolling playfully as she thinks about what to say back.

_I mean That’s an aggressive start to a conversation_

“Shawn?” Emily asks, peering at her friend over their lunch.

Molly looks up then, smile sliding off her face. “Yeah. He and Tennyson apparently live in the same building. Small world, right?” She clears her throat. “What do you know about him? He seems super sweet but it’s just… I don’t usually connect with people so fast?”

Emily shrugs up a shoulder, picking at her salad. “He’s Teddy’s friend mostly so I only kind of know him. But he’s always seemed like a sweet kid.”

Kid. There was that sobering word. It wasn’t the wrong word to describe him but every time Molly heard it, it felt a little like a punch in the gut. Because he was a 20 year old kid and she was a 26 year old woman and there wasn’t any excuse for this… this crush she had been harboring since they had met 3 weeks ago. It was silly. She had made sure he got home ok that night when they both drank way too much sangria, had left Lacey’s address (to get his car) and her number (in case he had problems finding it, at least, that’s what she told herself) on his bedside table, and had poured herself back into the uber and to her hotel room. By the time he called her that afternoon, she was already at her first layover in Colorado, about to take off to Maine for book research. His voice was pleasantly disappointed that she was gone, and he talked to her until she boarded and picked up his phone when she called from Maine. She tried not to take it seriously when he left for Toronto the next day, telling her that LA was suddenly disappointing without her. They were flirting. It was fine. It was no big deal.

_You should come here and fix things between me and him_

_And then like stay forever_

“Yeah, he’s definitely sweet,” Molly comments. “How have you been?”

_You’re ridiculous._

_No, I just want to hear you say my name again in person._

He had almost kissed her that night at Lacey’s and she had almost let him. Shawn’s face had gone all soft and sweet, his eyes and mouth relaxing in the corners as he leaned in and she had almost accepted it. But her fingers had caught his chin, her mind reminding her that he was a drunk kid thousands of miles away from home and she couldn’t take advantage of him, even if he was making the first move. Drunk people can’t give consent, she reminded herself in the uber when his mouth landed sweetly on her shoulder. She had laughed, pushing his head up. “You’re drunk, duckie,” she had reminded him. “Behave.”

If he remembered any of that, he didn’t let on.

Later that night, when she gets back to the hotel in LA after spending the day with Emily, she answers his facetime call. He’s pouting, complaining that she’s never where he wants her to be and that it’s extremely unfair she arrives in LA the day after he leaves.

“Aren’t you ever coming to Toronto?” He asks. “Aren’t you and Grumpy Pants working on a book together?”

“We are and I am. It’s just hard coordinating schedules because we both have other books we’re working out and I have a book launch in September. It’s all very,” she waves a hand around to demonstrate the chaos. “Besides, the only thing I do when I’m in Toronto to work with Ten is hole up in his condo and write and eat take-out for a week.”

“And then you could pack and come one floor up and stay with me for a week. Better yet, you could just stay at my place and give yourself a break from Mr. I Refuse To Acknowledge You In The Elevator. Seriously, I said hi to him today and he looked at me like I had lice.”

Molly tries her best not to smile. “You just have to get him to warm up to you.”

“That’s why I need you here.”

“Shawn-“

He grins widely, the way he does every time she says his name. “Molly, my birthday is next week. You can’t say no to me on my birthday. You have to be here or I’ll be devastated.”

“I think you’re overstating things.”

“Devastated,” he repeats.

“Don’t be dramatic, duckie.”

“Please, Molly. I’m not able to be with my family this year and I don’t want to come to LA. This year has been… weird for me.”

She sighs, head rolling back. “Will you even be home? Aren’t you going back on the road?”

“I’ll be home the 7th, 8th, and 9th. You could come on the 7th and then go on the road with me.”

Laughter bubbles out of her throat, despite his earnest face. “I’m going to Hawaii to see my sister and her family on the 12th. I don’t think that would work.”

“Then go see your sister and come out with us.”

It’s such an optimistic way to view things. Simple. Just pack your bags and laptop and hit the road with the boys. Just more proof that he’s a kid and she needs to keep her distance. “I’d never be able to write with y’all around. I’ve heard your boys and they are loud as hell. I need some peace.”

“I’d make them be quiet! And you’d have the whole bus to yourself when we’re setting up and doing sound check.”

“Yeah, it’s a no from me, dawg,” she tries to joke.

“Molly, say you’ll at least come for my birthday. I’ll book your flight. Please. We can talk about all of this then.”

Her rational mind says no. Her rational mind reminds her that he’s a kid who is six years younger than she is and she should disengage while this thing is still in harmless crush mode. But her rational mind has told her to not pick up his phone calls, to ignore his texts, to deny facetiming with him.

She hasn’t listened to her rational mind yet.

“I’ll book my own flight,” she tells him.

* * *

Roger wears that _I’m not mad, just disappointed_ face as he drops Molly off at the airport just after 4 AM on August 7th.

They’ve been friends for almost 10 years now and last night was the first argument they’ve ever had, and even though they both said some harsh things just hours before, Roger still shows up at her hotel to pick her up.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her once her bags are checked. “You were right when you said it’s not my business where you go. I just worry.”

Of course, Molly knew that.

She knew he was worried when his magenta eyebrows had knitted in concern, when his pink lacquered mouth had told her to stop chasing babies, when she had brushed his hand off her shoulder when she started crying.

“I know.”

“It’s just that… sometimes you’re so vulnerable, you know? And I worry about people taking advantage of that. I worry about Shawn, specifically, taking advantage of that.”

Molly’s eyes are earnest when she says, “I don’t think he will.”

“I don’t think he _intentionally_ will,” Roger amended. “But I think that he’s young and still learning. I think he’s eager for… whatever this is that y’all have going on and I worry that once the eagerness wears off, he’ll move on to the next thing. I worry about what that’ll do to you.”

She laughs a little. “Roger, we’re just friends. That’s all. He’s too young for me.”

But Roger had seen Shawn lean forward to kiss her that first night at Lacey’s, had seen Molly barely resist the temptation of his mouth, had seen her fingers shake against his chin like she wanted to let go. He had seen Molly’s face light up when Shawn called. Heard the unsuppressed glee in Shawn’s voice when she answered. They weren’t fooling anyone, except maybe themselves.

There’s a lot of things Roger wants to say to Molly moments before she boards the plane for Toronto. He wants to remind her that she and Tristan were just friends until they weren’t and then Tristan crushed Molly under the toe of her shoe a year later when living with a writer on a deadline and a mental illness had started being less romantic indie movie and more lifelike.

Then there had been Daniel. Molly was the one who had ended things with Daniel, but he put his hands on her, breaking her arm in the process. Daniel had been a supposedly sweet guy, too.

In the beginning.

He wants to hold her and tell her not to let this white boy with curly hair discover the jagged pieces of her because Roger didn’t think Shawn was man enough to handle them. Instead, he asks if she brought her medicine, gives a big hug, and puts her on a plane to Canada. His pulse quickens when he realizes it’s not Tennyson who will be picking her up on the other side.

“This is what it feels like to have a child,” he mutters to himself.

* * *

Molly lands in Toronto before Shawn.

There’s a moment of panic before she can catch herself. What was she doing here? Really, though, what was she thinking? It’s his birthday, she reminds herself. The same as it was Roger’s birthday when you went to LA. The same as it was April’s birthday when you went to New York. Nothing more, nothing less. Her phone pings with a message. It’s Shawn, telling her he’s already told the front desk to let her into his condo and he’ll be there in 3 hours. There’s a lot of exclamation points and heart emojis and she just can’t. She’s not exactly sure what she _can’t_ , but she knows this has to be the last time she flies to see him on a whim. Roger was right when he said this was bordering on inappropriate.

She feels dirty all of a sudden and her skin prickles with the realization that people can see her and if they can see her, they can see what a disgusting person she is. She walks briskly to the ticket counter, almost rips out her hair when there’s no flights available for her to get the hell out of dodge. She’ll take anything. To anywhere. Please help. But there’s nothing, _sorry miss_. Please have your panic attack anywhere other than my counter.

So, she does. She has her panic attack in the nearest available bathroom stall, hands flat against the wall as she tries to suck in enough air. Her phone keeps ringing, but she can’t answer it. Doesn’t even want to know who’s calling because if it’s Shawn, she’ll lose whatever semblance of composure she’d gained in the last five minutes.

There’s suddenly a pattern to the calls. Four rings, two rings, four rings. Silence. That’s Tennyson. That’s code for ‘ _I’ve called you twice and you didn’t pick up, I know something is wrong_ ’. She closes her eyes, brings the phone up to her mouth. She isn’t brave enough to see if all the calls were from Ten alone.

“Siri, call Tennyson.”

He picks up on the second ring. “Where are we panicking at today?”

“The Toronto Airport. Women’s restroom. Third stall from the back wall.”

There’s a pause as he processes this. “Why are you having a panic attack?”

“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispers.

“Why? I thought it was lover boy’s birthday.”

“It is. But… he’s just… a kid and I’m an adult.”

Tennyson snorts into the phone. “Fuck right off. He’s, what, turning 21? That’s not a kid, Molls. That’s a grown ass man.”

“But-“

“Remember how you see shit on the news where they call white men ‘kid’ when they commit a crime and you get pissed and yell about how anyone past 20 is an adult and should be called that? Yeah, he’s past 20. That’s an adult.” Tennyson takes a deep breath. “I know you and Roger had a fight about this and I know how he gets under your skin so easy. Listen, fuck him. He’s not a saint and I’m totally going to wipe his pink eyebrows off the next time I see him.”

“Don’t do that,” she giggles a little, breath coming in hiccups.

“Hey, let me come get you. We’ll go to lunch or whatever. You can calm down. We can assess this situation together.”

“Ok,” she whispers.

Tennyson is good at assessing situations with her. He knew her moods, her disordered thinking. She knew if he really felt she was heading toward an episode, he’d wrap her in a blanket and make her stay in his apartment until she was better. He picks her up, tells her she’s ok. They have lunch. He doesn’t think she’s headed towards a breakdown, but he does think she needs a nap so that’s what she does. She sleeps hard, feels weightless in her dreams. Toronto has a way of doing that to her. It’s late afternoon before she wakes up. Tennyson has put her phone on a charger, on silent, and leaves a note to tell her he’s gone on a date but he’ll be back later. She has a key, he reminds her. Love you and no more panic attacks over Roger’s dumbass opinions.

She’s missed all sorts of calls and texts from Shawn. They start off fine and get worried and end on a more desperate note.

_I can’t believe I get to see you!!! In literally 2 hours!!! WHAT!!!!_

_We just landed!!!!!! Are you at the condo??_

_Hey, just got home and you aren’t here._

_Did your plane get delayed?_

_I’ve tried to call like 12 times._

_Are you ok?_

_Please call me_

_Molly_

_Molly, are you ok?_

_Where the fuck are you?_

_I’m really freaking out right now_

_Please call me as soon as you can._

She’s not sure the phone even rings.

“Hey!” He chirps into the phone. There’s a sharpness in his tone, but it’s almost covered by the eagerness in his voice. “Are you ok? Where are you?”

“Hey, sorry. I fell asleep. I’m literally a floor below you.”

“At Tennyson’s?” '

"Yeah,"she plays with a loose string on her shirt before pulling it free. "I had a pretty major panic attack at the airport and big brother Ten came to the rescue and then I just... slept it off."

“What… do you have panic attacks a lot?”

“Yeah.” She decides to go for honesty. “I have schizoaffective disorder, too. It’s not like… super bad but I still take medication for it and go to therapy and stuff.” Her knee starts bouncing on its own. Maybe bringing it up like this isn’t the best move, but she figures she might as well rip the band-aid off. She’s had too many false starts with people- relationships and friendships- because they found out she has a mental illness. Let him see what she’s got going on and see how fast he runs.

He doesn’t ask invasive questions, not like most people do. Instead he takes a breath and says, “Are you ok? Like, is there anything I can do?”

“No, I’m ok.”

“Is- I mean… like, is it ok if we see each other like… now? Or do you need some space? Because I totally understand if you need space.”

“Do you need space?” She questions.

“From what? You?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Because of this? No, honey, I have stuff going on, too. Anxiety stuff and, like, I just…” His voice suddenly drops and he whispers, “I want to see you so bad. It’s taking a shit ton of self-restraint to not dig my way through my floor and Tennyson’s ceiling. Like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.”

“Here’s Shawnie?”

“Exactly. Fucking exactly. Tennyson already hates me. He’d really hate me then.” He takes a deep breath. “I understand if you need space tonight, but I’m desperate to see you for any amount of time. Even two seconds. I won't even hug you if that's too much."

She doesn’t know how he always manages to say such sweet things without trying. “I think I’m ok. We can hang out, if you want.”

“I want. Come up?”

“Sure,” she takes a steadying breath. “I’m on my way up.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading my little story! No warnings on this chapter, just some intense longing. I usually post on tumblr first, so if you're interested in seeing it their first (or just want to look at pictures of Shawn), you can follow me at RosieMercy! Happy reading!

Chapter Three.

He’s thrumming. His whole being feels like a just plucked guitar string, and he doesn’t realize he’s actually vibrating until he’s trying to brush his teeth and he’s slopping toothpaste foam literally fucking everywhere. Maybe he should have asked her for 10 minutes but in his haste to see her, he forgot that he had been on a plane and in airports all day until he caught of glimpse of his wild eyes and curls in the mirror. One hand was brushing teeth, the other was trying to push his hair back into place. He could use a shower. 10 minutes, he should have asked, but he was so hype to see her after a three week stint of phone calls and facetime that his brain hadn’t allowed him to even think it.

He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet outside the elevator doors when he realizes he still has his tooth brush in his hand. The elevator has just stopped and there’s no time to run it back into the condo, and before he can process that he can just put it in his pocket, he sends it sailing down the hall with a flick of the wrist. Problem solved.

_This is insane_ , his mind whispers. _Shouldn’t feel this way over a woman you spent literally 8 hours with. You didn’t even sleep with her. What the hell is going-_

Molly Tulane is just as beautiful as the first time he saw her. Hair in a high bun that was loosened by sleep, oversized flannel and shorts. She smiles like she’s happy to see him. “Hey, kid.”

He’s in the elevator with her, arms wrapped tight around her, heart beating fast. He doesn’t know what he wants to do more, hold her or look at her or say something stupid like-

“I’m never ever ever letting you leave, you know that right?”

“My agent would totally come looking for me. I have tours, too, you know.”

“Do authors have groupies? I could totally be your groupie.”

Her arms wrap around his waist and he lets out a little groan. If he had any shame, he might be embarrassed but he doesn’t, so he’s not, and any blush on his cheeks is over the fact that he’s being held by Molly Tulane. And it’s kind of all he wants.

“Shawn, the elevator.” Molly tries to reach past him to hit the door open button, but it’s too late and they are headed down to whatever floor recalled the elevator. “Oh no!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he starts laughing. “We’ll just ride the elevator all night.”

The elevator takes them to a ground where a nice older couple get on. Shawn disengages from Molly, but can’t stop himself from pressing his back to her front. Closeness for the sake of closeness isn’t something he typically revels in, especially in public, but he knows if he doesn’t keep even the slightest bit of contact with her, he’ll crawl right out of his skin in front of God and these nice elderly people who blessedly get off on the second floor.

When the doors shut again, she snakes her arms around his waist, the side of her face resting in the middle of his back. “Hold me close, Tony Danza.”

It’s a merciful joke that pulls him back from letting out another embarrassing sound. He places his hands on top of hers, swaying them back and forth until they are tottering around the elevator. He doesn’t let go, doesn’t let her let go when they arrive back at his floor. Instead he marches them to his front door, her arms still held around his waist.

“Why is there a toothbrush in your hallway?” She asks.

He’s glad she can’t see his face. “No idea. Weird.”

Shawn isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do with himself now that she’s in his condo. He releases her and turns to face her, his arms spreading wide as he flexes up on his toes. “Yay! I missed you!”

It’s a weird thing to say to someone you haven’t spent enough time with to miss, he knows this. But he has missed her hugely and he knows that’s weird, too, but he just can’t stop himself. He doesn’t control his brain or heart or emotions. He doesn’t get to choose who he misses or loves or wants or longs for. It’s not his fault, he tells himself.

What a relief it is when she smiles, cheeks tinging pink, and says, “I missed you, too.”

“Do you want something to drink? I bought wine.”

He’s halfway through the process of uncorking the bottle when it hits him that maybe she shouldn’t be drinking if she’s on medication. Like, he’s 99% positive that he’s heard the two don’t mix, but he’s 100% sure he’s shouldn’t make decisions for her and she said yes to wine. But he wants to take care of her, even though he’s not really aware of that fact yet.

“Hey, Molly?” He calls from the kitchen. He’s already put the wine bottle back in the fridge, the corkscrew in the drawer.

“Yeah?”

“Are you supposed to be drinking with your medication?”

There’s a long pause before she answers. “Nope. Water is fine.”

She doesn’t sound mad. There’s a nervous tic in his left cheek as he grabs two waters from the fridge. This thing between them is new and fragile, and Shawn knows he maybe stepped over a line but isn’t that what friends do? He’d want someone to remind him to take care of himself. Molly is perched on the edge of his couch, legs crossed and looking absolutely edible.

Shawn shakes his head. None of that.

“Thanks, Dad.” She says sarcastically, but her eyes are shining and she’s smiling, so he knows she’s not mad.

“You can call me Daddy if you want.”

Surprised laughter chases any lingering tension out of the condo. “Did you really just say that?”

“You started it.”

“I said Dad.”

“And I said Daddy. Same thing.”

“Different vibes.” Molly takes the water from him, her soft fingers brushing his and he notices she’s painted her nails a different color and it hits him that it’s been 3 weeks since he last saw her.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “About the wine thing. I probably shouldn’t have said anything, right? Because that’s not my business… even though I sort of… I want it… to be my business. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

If she’s thrown off by his verbal diarrhea, she doesn’t show it. “No, I’m glad you did. Sometimes I forget that I shouldn’t be drinking. I mean, obviously I forget because we literally got wasted in LA that night. But, no, it’s not good for me to drink.” She pats the seat beside her and he eagerly sits. He know she probably didn’t mean for him to sit nearly on top of her, but they’re thigh to thigh again and he doesn’t ever want to sit any other way. “Of course we’re friends. I wouldn’t have come out here if we weren’t.”

Shawn wants to ask her if she thinks they might be more than friends. It’s a ridiculous thought, more ridiculous than any of the other thoughts he’s had today. This was worse than being a teenager, thinking you’re in love with some stranger on the internet after one conversation.

But still.

But still, he wonders. He wonders if she ever thought about him during her day. If she had ever been out with friends or eating dinner or listening to music and turned her head to see if he was enjoying himself only to remember he was thousands of miles away. If in the loneliness of the night or the sleepy fog of the morning, her hands had wandered while her mind bloomed with what he would do to her. _With her_.

He wonders because all of those impossible things happened to him and he was afraid he was the only one that far out without a life vest. He was willing, wanting, to drown in this vastness of possibility, but he didn’t want to do it alone.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispers. His hand cups the side of her face, his thumb brushing at the corner of her mouth in that soft little spot he was dying to kiss in LA the night of Roger’s maybe birthday.

Her fingers close around his wrist like she’s not sure if she wants to hold his hand in place or pull it away. “Shawn.” She says his name like a warning and a plea.

They’re going to kiss. Of course they are. There’s not a universe out there where Shawn Mendes doesn’t kiss Molly Tulane. There might be a million different versions of them scattered throughout the galaxy but there’s not a single version of himself that wouldn’t rip apart everything to kiss her.

But there’s a knock at the door and Shawn’s breath stutters out, centimeters away from her mouth. She was going to let him kiss her this time, he was sure of it. It wasn’t like in LA where she had snagged his chin before his mouth reached hers. She didn’t this time. She was going to let him kiss her.

And whoever was at the door had ruined it.

There’s a moment where he considers ignoring it, pressing on, and kissing her. He makes it another fraction of an inch before there’s a second knock.

“You should get that,” Molly whispers.

He shakes his head.

“Shawn.”

He shakes his head again.

**Knock knock knock.**

Molly turns her head and calls out, “Just a second!”

Shawn sighs, chin dropping to his chest. “You’re killing me, Smalls.”

It’s Brian at the door and for one insane moment, Shawn thinks about closing the door in his face. _Sorry, buddy. Come back another day._

“What are you doing here?” He asks, confused.

Brian’s face is equally confused. “Dinner, remember? You said we’re going to dinner. Is your friend here yet?”

“I’m here!” Molly calls from the living room.

Brian is pushing past Shawn into the condo, and then he and Molly are greeting each other, hugging, and Shawn is trying not to let it eat him alive. He checks his phone, sure he told Brian that he and Molly were going out to dinner, not an open invitation, but what he sees is a message where Brian asks _what’s going on tonight_ and Shawn replied _we’re going out to dinner_. Of course, Brian would think he was included in that because even though _we’re_ implied _him and Molly_ in his head, no one else would think that. No one would group the two of them exclusively together. Not yet. Not after one meeting and three weeks’ worth of calls.

He still tries to dig his heels in a little. Molly is here for three days. He doesn’t want to share her time with anyone else. Brian doesn’t take the hint when Shawn suggests maybe they meet somewhere later for drinks, doesn’t notice when Shawn’s cheeks bloom crimson when he asks Molly if they’ve decided where they’re going to eat so he can let the rest of the guys know.

“My birthday isn’t until tomorrow,” Shawn finally chokes out, trying to cover it up with a laugh. “And Molly is dead tired, I’m sure. Maybe we could just do take-out and hold off the introductions until tomorrow?”

Something odd passes over Molly’s expression. “No, y’all go out. I really am exhausted.”

“That’s why I said take-out,” Shawn argues. She shakes her head and stands up like she’s about to leave. “Don’t go,” he pleads.

“Yeah, stay,” Brian throws himself across the couch, scrolling through his phone. “What about Chinese?”

“I really should go,” Molly presses.

“Or Cantonese?”

“Yeah, man, whatever. Just order a bunch of shit, it’s fine.” Shawn has Molly’s hands in his and he’s walking them towards his bedroom, silently pleading with her to stop trying to pull away. He pushes the bedroom door shut with his foot. “Hey, what’s going on? Why are you suddenly trying to bolt?”

“I’m not,” she shakes him off, crossing her arms over her chest. Defensive. “I just don’t want to keep you from your friends since you don’t want- I didn’t know you had plans.”

“My only plans were with you!” He knows his voice sounds desperate. “And finish your first thought.”

“Excuse me?”

“You said _I don’t want to keep you from your friends since you don’t want_ and then you stopped. Finish that thought.”

She waves him off. “I don’t know where I was headed with that.”

But Shawn knows where she was headed with it. It clicked when that shadow passed over her face. She thought he didn’t want her to meet his friends. She thought he didn’t want to be seen with her. “You’re so smart and literally so obtuse, all at the same time. It’s amazing. I didn’t want to go out tonight because I don’t want to share you with my stupid friends. I want all of your attention, do you get that? And yeah, tomorrow I want all of my friends to meet you so they can look at each other and say _how the fuck did Mendes get this girl_? Then I want… I want to spend the next three days with you because after that, I’ll be on the road and you’ll be in Hawaii and you’ll probably forget about me.”

He’s said a lot. More than he wanted to say. But there it was all out in the open. How he was already thinking of her as his girl and his insecurity that she would get bored of him, that his newness would wear off and she’d realize he was only interesting on the surface.

“Now you’re being obtuse,” she murmurs. “I’m not going to forget about you, Shawn. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You might. You might find some witty writer who sweeps you off your feet and you’ll never think about me again.” He’s not sure when his hands find her face again, when she starts fisting his shirt, but here they are, dangerously close again. “You do think about me, right?”

“Yes,” she admits, her words soft and shy. “I shouldn’t, but I do.”

“Molly,” his voice is just as soft. “I-“

“Hey, what do you guys want? I don’t like making decisions!” Brian calls from down the hall. They jolt apart, looking sheepish, neither believing just how close they keep getting.

“We should-“ Molly gestures towards the door.

“Yeah, right, of course.”

Brian is oblivious to the look of unfiltered loathing his best friend shoots him. “Pick a place, any place.”

They eat take-out and watch Netflix, sitting side by side and then with Molly’s legs over Shawn’s lap and then with his head in her lap, soft fingers raking through his hair. He falls asleep once, twice, and wakes up each time with a start, afraid he’s dreamed the last few hours up. Brian’s asleep when Shawn jolts awake the second time, and when she sees he’s awake, Molly gently urges Shawn to sit up. “I’ve got to get some sleep.”

“Stay here,” he mumbles. In his drowsy state, what little self-consciousness he has disappears, and he drapes himself across her, his face nudging between her neck and shoulder.

“I shouldn’t.”

He picks up on that. It’s not that she doesn’t want to, it’s that she shouldn’t. Like there’s some invisible line that sleeping in the same bed would cross. Or that they would cross if they slept in the same bed. They would, wouldn’t they? So, he doesn’t try to convince her to stay. He just says, “I understand.”

He walks her to the elevator, takes her down a floor, deposits her back at Tennyson’s condo. Safe and sound. They hug goodnight. He wishes he could kiss her.

The elevators are almost closed when she comes shooting in at him. She wraps her arms around him, standing up on her tiptoes to whisper, “Happy birthday, duckie.” And then she’s gone again. Shawn looks at his watch. 12:01.

It’s already the best birthday he’s ever had.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly wakes up at 7 am when Shawn calls her from one floor up.

She’s tempted to send him to voicemail because it’s too early, he should be asleep, but she answers it. “This better be good, Shawnie boy.”

“It’s time for breakfast.”

She hangs up on him. Breakfast my ass, she thinks blearily, already fading back into sleep. But he’s calling again, laughing when she answers. “Don’t be mean to me, Molly. It’s my birthday.”

“Happy birthday. Can we, like, talk at a more reasonable hour?”

“I’m leaving for yoga in 20 minutes and then I’m going for breakfast. I want you to come with.”

“You’re such a Gen Z-er.” She rolls over on her back, sighing and stretching. “I don’t do yoga. Breakfast, on the other hand-”

“I can skip yoga! We can just get breakfast.”

There’s a part of her that is so flattered he’s willing to change his plans. It would give anyone an ego boost to know that this beautiful human with his broad shoulders and easy smile wanted to spend the whole of his birthday with them, but there was that little part of her, that part that sounded a lot like Roger, that didn’t think it was healthy. Infatuation didn’t last, could be dangerous, never ended well.

“No,” she says. “You should go to yoga. I have to get a shower and get dressed. We can meet somewhere downtown, if you want.”

He’s quiet and she’s spent enough time staring at him on facetime to know he’s chewing on his bottom lip. “Are you sure? I’m not going to do a long session.”

“Do whatever length of session you want,” she laughs a little. “It takes an hour to dry this hair. Don’t be in any hurry.”

He grumbles but agrees. “Text me as soon as you’re ready to go.”

“I will,” she assures him. “See you soon.”

Tennyson is already up, coffee cup perched on his knee as he watches the Toronto skyline on his balcony. “Morning, sunshine,” he greets when Molly joins him. “I figured you would have stayed with lover boy last night.”

“I’m glad you have such a high opinion of me.”

He makes a face, waves her off. “Don’t be archaic. He’s a single, willing adult. You’re a single, willing adult. Throw in explicit consent and you’ve got a sexy time.”

“Is that what happened with you last night?”

“No. She was a, uh, fan and a little weird. I ended the night early. I heard you come in. Again, I was surprised”

She wants to keep directing the conversation away from Shawn but Tennyson keeps firmly steering them back. She sighs loudly, throws her head back, eyes closed. “Am I crazy for doing this?”

“Doing what? Coming to your friend’s birthday party?”

“I like him,” she finally admits. “I really like him. I almost kissed him last night. Twice.”

“I’m not seeing the problem, babe.”

She doesn’t want to keep repeating that he’s young. It’s true, it’s the source of most of her discomfort, but it isn’t the only thing troubling her. “Sometimes his eagerness is overwhelming. He’s got this… all encompassing, all-in, attitude and sometimes I’m so flattered by it and then sometimes I’m just like, is this guy for real? I’m a broken record when I say he’s young, but he is. He’s had two, maybe three relationships, none of them super serious or long-term. I don’t think he’s really had a relationship since he was a teenager.”

“So, he’s never had an adult relationship and he’s like a love-struck teenager?”

“Basically.” She rubs a hand over her face. “It’s stupid, right?”

“No,” Tennyson reaches over, grabbing her hand. “No, I think you’ve been in some rough relationships that started out with this same overwhelming shit and you’re cautious. I think you’re smart and you’re looking out for yourself. Maybe you should just tell him that. Tell him to chill out.”

“I wish it was that simple,” she stands up, lets out another sigh. “Ok, I need to get ready. Thanks for letting me be emo this early in the morning.”

“I live for this shit,” he waves her off. “It’s great writing material.”

“Shut up.”

Shawn beats her to the small cafe she suggests. She has friends, great friends, but she’s never had someone be so happy to see her. She’d gone months without seeing her L.A. friends or her Chicago friends or her New York friends and they’d of course been welcoming and warm when she returned, but she’d never had anyone light up like Christmas tree when they saw her, not the way Shawn does, not when he’d just seen her 7 hours earlier. He stands up as soon as she walks in the door, comes to her and wraps her up in a hug. “That was way longer than an hour,” he jokes.

“I told you. This hair is a lot to deal with.”

He touches her thick, dark hair. “For what it’s worth, your hair always looks so nice.”

“Flattery,” she rolls her eyes.

Molly gets pancakes and Shawn gets some protein bowl that she makes fun of. She moans in appreciation at her first bite and he bites back a grin. “Your breakfast looks so sad,” she comments. “Do you want a bite?”

He shakes his head, moves his eggs around the plate. “I’m on tour diet. Gotta keep in shape.”

“You are literally carved out of marble. I think one bite isn’t going to kill you.” She holds out her fork, hand cupped underneath it to catch any drips. When he leans in to take the bite, she knows he’s not taking it because he wants the pancake she offering. He’s doing it because she offered, because she’s feeding him, the same way he took little bites of cake from her fingertips in LA. It’s a thrill, one that adds to the mounting confusion in her head. It doesn’t help when he lifts her cupped hand to his mouth, lips softly wrapping around her thumb to catch a stray drop of syrup. His eyes crinkle in the corners when he smiles at the way her eyes go wide.

“It’s good,” he comments, releasing her hand. “But still. Tour diet.”

She swallows, throat thick, and clears her throat. “Sure, of course. So are you going to have a protein bar and Skinny Girl vodka for your birthday?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve been saving all of my indulgences for tonight.”

The way he says it makes her stomach flutter. She reminds herself to have Tennyson come get her if she’s not back in his apartment by midnight. Nothing good happens after midnight, not when it comes to men with broad shoulders and sweet smiles that suck syrup off your thumb in the middle of a diner. “That’s good,” she says lightly. “I’m sure you and your boys will have a wild time.”

His eyebrows knit together. “You’ll be there, too.”

“For a while, yeah. But I’m an old lady and I’ll probably tap out early.” She also didn’t want to play den mother to a bunch of drunk boys. She’d done that once for Tennyson and his friends on his 21st and she’d not spoken to Ten for six months after that.

Shawn shrugs up a shoulder. “I mean, I’m out when you’re out.”

“No, no. Absolutely not. It’s your birthday, you’re supposed to be living it up.”

What he wants to say is that it’s not really living it up if she’s not around because all he’s going to be able to think about is how she’s in the same city as him but not with him and that would just be a miserable time for everyone around him. But he can’t say all that, even as desperate as he is, so he shrugs a shoulder. “I need to go shopping. Will you go with me?”

Molly finishes her last bit of tea, rolls her eyes. “I bet you’re going to Gucci or Prada, aren’t you?”

“Hermes, actually.” The waitress brings the check and he reaches for it, but Molly snatches it, smiles triumphantly as she hands the waitress her credit card. “Hey, I was going to get that.”

“You don’t pay for your own breakfast on your birthday, Shawn. Everyone knows that.”

It’s weird how comfortable and routine being with Molly feels. They’ve never driven in downtown Toronto together but it’s almost like he can predict that she’s going to change the radio, remind him to put on his seatbelt. It’s like they’ve done this a thousand times and will do it a thousand more times, and if anyone else would have criticized his parallel parking, he would have gotten mad, but when Molly does, he laughs, parks even more crooked just to hear her complain.

She’s not a good shopping buddy and it’s strangely endearing. He tries on shirt after shirt and while the person helping him is quick to praise everything he tries on, Molly hasn’t commented much other than saying everything was overpriced. And ugly.

“I kind of feel like the girl trying to transform into homecoming Queen and you’re the best guy friend I’m secretly trying to impress even though I claim I like the cool football player,” he says, laughing after she turns her nose up at the fourth shirt he tries on. “I just want you to think I’m pretty, Molly.”

His heart skips a beat when she gives him a wink before looking back at her phone. “You’re gorgeous, doll. Wear what you want.”

It’s supposed to be a joke. He saw the forest green mesh shirt on a display rack and figured he’d try it on, at least maybe get a laugh out of her. But when he puts it on and presents himself with a little flourish and tada, her eyebrows raise and she says, “Ok, this I like.”

It makes him pause. “Really? This?”

“It looks nice. The green makes your eyes pop.”

“This?” He repeats, stretching his arms out to look at the sheer sleeves.

“Wear it without an undershirt, you coward!” She smiles when his mouth pops open. “Set the titties free.”

“Set yours free!” He sputters.

“I would, but it’s illegal. Only man titties are allowed to be free.”

The sales associate gives her a snotty look. Apparently it’s bad taste to say titties in Hermes, so Shawn buys the mesh shirt and another more practical one before ushering them both outside. Molly is more enthusiastic with shoe shopping even though it takes him twice as long to decide between two pairs of boots even though they look the exact same. 

Shawn is surprised when Molly wants to stop at one of the shops. He knew she had money but she didn’t seem the type to care about designer labels and he watches as she randomly picks out a handbag, drops a grand on it and walks out without cracking a smile.

“Didn’t know you were into designer bags,” he comments lightly as they head back to his car.

“I’m not. My sister is.”

“Oh. Is it her birthday or something? Is that why you’re going to Hawaii to visit?”

He opens the car door for her to get in, ever the gentleman, and she shakes her head. “No. The only way she lets me see my nephews is if I bring her something. She likes handbags. Makes it easier.”

Shawn takes his time putting the bags in the trunk, gives himself a little time to mull this new information over and when he gets back in the car, he looks at her and says, “So, she’s basically blackmailing you?”

“Sort of, I guess.”

He’s so confused at how glib she is. If his sister were blackmailing him, handbags for time with his nephews, he’d lose his shit. But Molly acts like it’s ok, like this is what normal families do to each other, and he blurts out, “That’s really fucked up.”

She shrugs, pushes her hair off her shoulder. There’s no annoyance in her voice but he can tell she starting to get a little defensive. “It is what it is. Not all families are sunshine and rainbows. We make the best of what we get, you know?”

“What does your mom say about all of this? Your dad?”

That same pained expression that she had in L.A. when he asked her where home was crosses her face now. “My dad died 13 years ago and my mom hasn’t cared about me since, so…” Shawn isn’t sure what his face is doing, the buzz in his ears so strong that he feels a little numb but it must be doing something weird because he sees her defenses fly up so fast, smile snapping into place as she laughs. “I’m being dramatic. It’s not a big deal. I buy her an expensive handbag twice a year, she lets me see my nephews. It’s a win-win.”

It shows how bad the situation is that she thinks a still totally fucked up explanation like that wouldn’t be perceived as fucked up. He tries to tell her how not ok it is, how that’s nowhere near a win-win, but he’s stumbling over himself and she cocks her head to the side and says, “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal, Molls. Families just don’t… do that. Using your kids as a bargaining tool for ugly handbags is, like, really extreme.”

“Well, it’s our normal.”

“Don’t you see how fucked up it is?”

She throws up her hands. “What do you want me to say? It’s not a big deal. I’m not mad about it, I get to see my nephews, everything is fine.”

They sit in silence for a long moment. She’s got her hands wrapped around her middle, keeps staring out the windshield, and Shawn is floundering because he didn’t expect this. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“I’m not mad,” she shakes her head. “It’s just… hard. I know none of my family shit is normal, but it’s mine and I can’t change it. I know what it looks like to someone who has a solid family but I don’t and I’m trying to make the best of what I do have.”

He reaches out, touches her arm softly with his fingertips. “Has it always been like this or…?”

She shrugs. “Kind of. I had a really weird childhood.”

“Weird as in…” he trailed off.

She turns to look at him, really look at him and he pushes all the love and understanding and respect he has towards her, wants her to tell him everything, wants to be that confidant for her. And it must work because she takes a deep breath and says, “My dad died when I was 13. He had an aneurysm, so it was literally that he was with us one minute and gone the next. It was tough, you know? I’m the baby of the family and he was my best friend so I took it… really hard. My schizoaffective disorder started manifesting after that, and I’d have hallucinations that he was there. I think it was just too much for my mom. She got remarried when I was 14 and she went to live with him.”

“Wait,” Shawn holds up a hand. “She went to live with her new husband and you went where?”

Molly shrugs up a shoulder, moving so that her hair creates a curtain between them, but he pushes her hair back, not willing for her to throw up any kind of wall. “I stayed home.”

“By yourself?”

“Yeah,” she gives an uncomfortable laugh. “Rob, my step father, didn’t really want kids and my two older sisters were already out of the house, so it was just me. And like I said, I was kind of losing my shit. I was undiagnosed at that point and had no support system so… I mean, I had lucid days but most of the time I was just absolutely out of it. Talking to walls. It was a lot for my mom to handle. And it’s not like I was homeless or anything. I wasn’t starving. I lived in a nice house and there was always electricity and water and food. So, I didn’t have it that bad. I was just… lonely. Scared.”

Tears unexpectedly bloom in his eyes. Shawn tilts his head up to coax them away. “You were a kid and she just left you. That’s literally the shittiest thing I’ve ever heard. Instead of trying to get you help, she just decides to leave?”

“I know it sounds bad,” she’s twisting her fingers. “But she didn’t know how to handle the mental illness stuff.”

“And you did?”

“Obviously not.”

“What I’m getting at is she’s the parent and it’s her responsibility to keep you safe especially since you were just fourteen. Jesus fucking Christ. How did no one report her?”

“Most of our people lived out of state, especially my dad’s family. She’d know ahead of time when they were coming and she’d show up, drug me out of my mind on valium, and play house. My sisters… we weren’t close. We aren’t close. I see Ellen because of the kids but I haven’t seen Hannah in like five years.”

“Molly, that’s so fucked up.” He’s got a hand pressed to his chest, a physical ache welling up at the thought of her being treated so poorly, of people having the opportunity to be in her life, the way he so desperately wants to be, and throwing it away.

She looks surprised, like she didn’t expect this story to upset him. “It’s not a big deal now. My paternal grandparents showed up unexpectedly one weekend. Nanny said that I was half-dressed, half-starved, and staring into the microwave because I just couldn’t take care of myself in that state.”

“And your mom went to jail, right? Because they definitely called the police.”

Her snort gives him his answer before she actually does. “No. That would have been a huge scandal. No one wanted that. My grandparents just took me. It was literal weeks before my mom realized. I was already in a mental institute at that point.” She looks a little sick, her eyes darting to his eyes before darting away again. “I don’t think anyone expected me to… actually come out of the hospital. I had a great aunt named Bitty who stayed in the hospital her entire life. From the time she was 16 until she died. I think that’s what everyone thought would happen to me, too. Like they started calling me Bitty as a joke when I got out. But I got better really fast. My therapist now thinks that I was so bad because of, you know, having the mental illness but also the trauma of losing a parent and then basically losing the other one.”

And being abandoned, he thought. He wanted to ask her how she was but his brain couldn’t think of a way to ask that didn’t sound like he was concerned about what he was getting himself into. He wasn’t concerned about that at all. The only thing he wants to know is if he’s allowed to be there for her.

She must read it in his face because she gives him a genuine smile. “I’m ok now. I still deal with anxiety and sometimes we have to adjust my meds but I’m really good at gauging when I’m about to have an episode so I can get away from everyone and freak out without disrupting everyone’s lives.”

That hurts him, too. He can’t imagine thinking something you can’t control, something that is literally a part of your brain chemistry, is an inconvenience to the people who are supposed to love you.

“Don’t do that. Being off by yourself when that happens sounds really, really dangerous, Molly. Like… how has none of your friends told you this?”

“I don’t think they know,” she leans her head back on the headrest. “I don’t talk about this shit with anyone. Roger and Lacey and Tennyson all know that I have stuff going on but I haven’t told them the full story. I don’t even know why I told you.”

But she does know and he knows, too. She trusts him. Their friendship is new and tentative and flirty, but she trusts him because he hasn’t given her reason not to. He hopes he never does. “I’m dead serious, Molls. Don’t run off when stuff like that happens. Come to me. At least you’ll be 100% safe, yeah?”

She rolls her head to look at him, her eyes dancing with laughter. “Yeah, sure. That would be so great for your imagine. This is my friend, Molly. Sometimes she dissociates and isn’t sure if she’s real but she’s definitely hearing something in the wall so there’s that. Your team would fucking love it.”

He doesn’t laugh. “I don’t give a shit what anyone would think about it. Is that really how it is for you?”

There’s a hesitation. “I haven’t had a hallucination since I was… shit, your age. Mostly I dissociate and feel unreal. Sometimes I want to hurt myself, but I’ve never acted on that. I just get really irritable and want to pick a fight so I leave. I’m good at managing it now.”

He wants to say something big and important but he doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know what words to use. Sorry your family are absolute assholes, we can share mine. Or maybe he could say my parents would love you. Or maybe even can I keep you? But before he can work up the nerve to say any of that, she’s smiling. “Listen, that’s some heavy shit on your birthday and it’s totally unnecessary. I’m ok now, everything’s cool.”

“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” Shawn agrees, turning the car on. “But that doesn’t make it unnecessary.”

They’re quiet for a long time after that. He’s just driving around aimlessly, not sure where he’s headed or what he’s doing, just sort of getting his head together and she must take his silence for something else because she quietly says, “I’m sorry if I ruined your birthday.”

“You didn’t,” he assures her, stopping at a red light. “The only way you could ruin today is if you were like Shawn, I secretly hate you.”

“Well, buddy, I’ve got some bad news for you.”

He turns his head to look at her, already knows she’s got a huge smile on her face. “Don’t say it.”

“Shawn-“

“Don’t do it, Molly. Don’t ruin my birthday.”

“- I secretly hate you and-“

He shakes his head, laughter already bubbling out. “Take it back, take it back, take it back!”

“-and I think someone needs to stop you from cutting your fucking pants. God said he’d never flood the Earth again and I think you need to believe in His promises, ok? Stop cutting your pants. You look like a short Grandma who wears capris that are too long to actually be capris and too short to be pants.”

“Molly, it’s fashion,” he tries to explain but he can’t stop laughing.

Her face is serious when she says, “Your legs are eight miles long and your pants are only six. It’s a problem, shug.”

He leans over to rest his head on her shoulder, practically preens when her hand automatically moves to stroke his cheek. “I just want people to admire my boots and then my ankles. I have very sexy ankles.”

“Do you?” She questions lightly.

“I do.” With all things lately, he’s not sure what possesses him but he hears himself say, “I can show you tonight, if you want.”

She laughs, pushes his head off her shoulder. “I’m not an ardent admirer of ankles, so their sexiness would be lost on me. The light’s green, by the way.”

They end up at some novelty shop downtown, miles away from the high end stores they had just been in, but Molly buys enough party poppers to theoretically bring a house down and then insists on getting Shawn a pink sash that reads This Birthday Girl is 21 in silver sparkles. It’s something he wouldn’t be caught dead in, insecure as he was sometimes, but she only has to ask twice, pouting a little the second time, before he’s slipping it over his head. It’s a tad too small, meant for a small girl and not a man with a broad chest, but he’ll wear it until it breaks because it seems to delight her so much and he even poses dramatically for a few pictures.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

He looks over at her, sorting through her piles of party poppers on his living room floor. He’s still got the stupid sash on, has changed into pants that aren’t too short, and they’re waiting on lunch to be delivered. “Yeah, sure.”

“Why aren’t you with your family today? Isn’t your hometown like 45 minutes away?” He winces, chest filling with a hot ache, and he knows his expression must be terrible because she’s instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. That’s not my business.”

But she had shared things with him today, hadn’t she? And he desperately wanted her to know all the things about him, even the ugly things, so he slides off the couch to sit next to her on the floor. “Have you ever done something that you’re ashamed of?”

“Do you mean my whole life?” She tries to joke, but he doesn’t smile. “Yeah, of course. Who hasn’t?”

Shawn twists his hands in his lap until she reaches over and grabs one of them, giving it a squeeze. “I want to tell you but I don’t want you to think badly of me.”

“Hey,” she bumps his shoulder with his. “I told you I literally used to talk to walls. I have zero room to judge anyone.”

“Yeah, but you can’t help that. I… willingly did what I did.”

He can feel her tense for a moment and he wonders what she thinks he did. “Ok, well… tell me.”

He takes a deep breath. “So, at the beginning of the year, my team came up with this… PR stunt to promote a song. I have a casual friend who had some stuff coming out around the same time, too, and both of them were love songs and our teams were like hey, what if we got people to think you guys wrote these songs about each other? It didn’t seem like that big of a deal, you know? All we had to do was be seen together a few times before the songs dropped. But then both of our songs releases kept getting pushed back and there was this… pressure to keep the speculation going and… my friend? She was engaged. And we took things way, way too far and she, like, she asked me if we could just stop. If I would have said yes, it would have been fine because it would have been a mutually ended contract but… I was so pissed because… people could tell it was fake and I’ve always hated being the butt of the joke and I was suddenly this huge ass clown to my fans and… I told her no. I told her that we need to finish this shit we started and-“ he trails off, not able to look at Molly.

“Her fiancé called off the engagement, didn’t he?”

Shawn nods mutely. “She was devastated, but we kept on until the songs were released. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen anyone look at me like they truly hate me. We haven’t talked since that happened and then she told my Mom what we did... what I did and I just- I know my mom is ashamed. I know she is and I can’t- I can’t handle that because my parents have always been proud of me. So I’ve just been avoiding them. I haven’t been home since March. I talk to them on the phone but when things get heavy, I tell them I have to go. My dad has showed up here a dozen times and I just… sat on the couch and pretended like I wasn’t here. Just let him ring the door bell and knock for an hour.”

He won’t look at her. At some point he had pulled his hand away from her, now had his hands locked between his knees, and she knows he doesn’t want her to say anything to make him feel better, but she wants to. “I think that’s a really big burden for someone to carry around.” She scoots a little closer to him, nudges his side gently with her elbow. “And from an outside perspective, I think you’re taking too much blame on yourself. If your friend really loved her fiancé, she would have called it quits with or without you. It kind of feels like she decided to put her career first and it didn’t turn out the way she wanted… and you’re an easy target to blame. Just because you said you weren’t backing out doesn’t mean that she couldn’t have.”

He shrugs a shoulder up. “I guess.”

“And your family stuff. I can’t believe you think they’re ashamed of you after all the stuff you’ve told me about them. Like… I’d kill for a family like that and you’re hiding from them? Come on,” she takes a chance, loops her arm through his and he suddenly droops against her, face pressing into the crook of his neck as he wills himself not to cry. “Hey, listen. You have plenty of time to go see your folks and then get back to whatever hellacious frat bash your boys are throwing you. Go thank your Mama for giving birth to your big ass head and give your handsome Daddy a hug for me, ok? You won’t regret it, I guarantee it.”

“I can’t. I-“

“You can and you will.” She shakes loose of him, pushes herself up off the floor. “I mean it, Mendes. Your Mama probably misses the hell out of you. You’re such a Mama’s boy- don’t look at me that way, you know you are- and she’d be so happy to see you.”

“I don’t have a big ass head, by the way.” He stands up, too, pats his pocket for his keys. “You can come, too.”

But she shakes her head, suddenly shy. “Nah, go be with your family. I’m kinda tired and I just want a nap since someone woke me up at 7.”

“You can stay here,” he offers. “My bed is comfy. I won’t be gone too long.”

She trails him into his bedroom, gets under the blankets while he changes his shirt. “Do you do that a lot?” she asks.

“Huh?” He turns around, still buttoning his shirt up and he doesn’t miss the way her cheeks flush or the way she watches him button the next two buttons before her eyes snap up to his.

“Uh, change your shirt. That’s like the third shirt I’ve seen you wear today and it’s like 10’o’clock.”

He shrugs. “I guess? I don’t know.”

“That’s not very eco-friendly of you, all that laundry,” she teases. And then she got her head on his pillow, blanket around her shoulders and he swallows hard, has to physically restrain himself from crawling in the bed after her, wonders what it be like to be slotted behind her, if her hair smells different when she sleeps.

“I have to go,” he tells her as much as he tells himself. “But I’ll be back.”

She drifts off quickly. In her dreams there are white, sandy beaches and cotton candy colored skies and miles and miles of ocean. She dreams there’s a soft breeze caressing her face and wakes up with a start to Shawn gently pushing her hair out of her face. His face is glowing, eyes ecstatic when he tells her, “They were so happy to see me.”

“I told you they would be.”

“You did. Thanks for making me go.”

Molly leans into him for just a second, rests her forehead against his shoulder and she feels him press his cheek to the top of her head and it’s comfortable, still comfortable when he slides his arms around her and presses in closer but that Roger sounding voice in the back of her head lets out a warning cry and she starts pulling away from him. “What time is it?”

She’s got her back to him when she sits up, adjusts her top and hair, doesn’t see the way he frowns or the way his fingers twitch towards her back, a violent need to just touch her for one more second crowding his joints. But he pulls back at the last moment, checks his watch. “A few minutes before 4.”

“Fuck,” she pulls her phone out, starts typing out something and Shawn whines a little pay attention to me whine, tries to block the screen of her phone with his hand. “Stop,” she laughs. “I’m supposed to have a Facetime interview with some guy who wants to be my assistant. My last one got married and quit all of a sudden and I’m too scattered to keep up with tour dates and events and deadlines.”

Shawn moves to the edge of the bed, sits closer than he needs to. “I could be your assistant.”

“You don’t even handle your own shit,” she murmurs, only half paying attention to him.

“But I would be great at handling yours. We could travel everywhere together.”

“My assistant only travels to events with me,” she puts her phone back in her pocket. “And I can’t imagine you’d give up rock stardom to book flights and fetch sharpies for me.”

“I absolutely would.”

“It doesn’t pay much,” she jokes. “You’d have to move into a tiny apartment and be a regular person.”

“But I’d get to see you every day, so that’s a fair enough trade.”

She doesn’t know why she does it, but she leans over and kisses his cheek, secretly loves the way his whole face gets soft and drowsy, cheeks pinking up when he looks at her. “You’re sweet, duckie.”

His arm slips around her, fingers pressing at the small of her back. He thinks he says her name softly and then they’re leaning in towards each other and he’s finally going to get to kiss Molly Tulane and his eyes have already closed and he swears he can feel the slightest brush of her lips on his before his doorbell starts ringing erratically and someone, probably Brian, is yelling “Party Wagon!” from the hall.

They jolt apart.

“I need to go,” Molly says, her expression and voice a little chaotic. “I have this interview and then I need to, like get ready for the party or whatever and I-“

“Yeah, hey, it’s cool. We’re not leaving for a while.” He tries to put a hand on her shoulder, a soothing gesture, but she shrugs him off, gives him a little smile. She’s bolting. He knows that and he doesn’t know how to make her not bolt so he blurts out, “Why don’t you invite Tennyson?”

They both look at each other in shock, neither of them quite believing Shawn would invite his arch-nemesis from downstairs to his birthday party. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” he hears himself say. “That way you know more than just me, eh?”

It’s actually the perfect solution, she decides. Shawn won’t admit he’s afraid of Tennyson, but he totally is and he’d make a great buffer between her and Shawn, would be the perfect excuse to duck out early. “Ok, sure. I’ll ask him.”

Molly decides that she’s not going to let Ten say no when she sees a group of guys, Shawn’s friends, in the hallway, already lit and ready to party despite the fact that it was barely 5 pm. There’s a few curious glances at her as they fill the apartment but none of them gets a good look at her because she slips out the door and is on the elevator before their alcohol addled brains can catch up but she hears one of them say, “Yo, Mendes, was that your girl?”

Tennyson, much to her surprise, says yes. “Do you think I’d ever turn down a chance to party with a rock star and his entourage? Think of the writing material, Molly.”

She sits on the end of his bed, watches him effortlessly transform himself from frumpy librarian to playboy with just a change of clothes and she feels a little put out that she’s going to look like a frumpy librarian regardless of what she wears.

“I didn’t bring anything nice to wear.” She tells Tennyson as he starts rifling through his closet for shoes.

“You left that pink dress here last time.”

“Too much cleavage.”

Tennyson gives a little laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure ol’ Shawnie boy would hate that.”

When she doesn’t respond, he looks up, expression confused and she gives him this helpless look, hopes he understands that it’s not Shawn she’s worried about, it’s his friends, and he nods, gets it without her saying anything because Tennyson is both her best friend and her soulmate. He just knows and he abandons his search for shoes, sits on the bed next to her and pulls her legs into his lap, lets her bury her face into the crook of his neck.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Molls. I think at this point you could show up in a paper sack and he’d still think you were the most beautiful person in the galaxy. Wear whatever you want, you know?”

“But all his-“

“Fuck his friends, dude. You’re a hot, older woman- you think they’re going to think anything other than that? Hell no.”

Tennyson had met Molly at the start of their careers at the urging of their shared agent because Tennyson was charismatic, charming, and terrible with deadlines and Molly was grossly talented but could barely make it through her author signings because of anxiety. They were 18 and Ten was full of himself, knew he was handsome and he hadn’t wanted to meet Molly because she was chubby and awkward but he did and he had fallen so hard in platonic love with her, had all but begged to be her best friend and 8 years later, here they were, knowing each other well enough that he knows if he doesn’t get her out the door in 10 minutes, she’ll back out and completely destroy his upstairs neighbor.

“That white button up, the one that’s too big? Wear that and black leggings. And your glasses and those flats I got you for Christmas. They’re in the closet.”

“You can totally see my bra through that shirt,” she complains.

“That’s the point.” He kisses the top of her head before unceremoniously shoving her legs off his lap. “Go get dressed, heathen. We need to go before your boyfriend digs his way through my ceiling.”

He was right about the outfit; she had to give him that. She doesn’t mean to admire herself in the elevator mirror, but she does for just a second before she catches Tennyson’s smirk in the mirror. “What?”

“Shawn’s favorite color is blue, huh?”

She pauses, looks confused. “Yeah… how did you know?”

He points at the mirror. “That’s a nice blue bra. Wearing matching undies?”

“Shut up!” She shrieks, hitting him in the shoulder.

“What a present to unwrap.”

“Ten!”

When the elevators open, Molly is surprised to see Shawn standing there. He’s wearing the forest green mesh shirt, with an undershirt, and her stomach swoops when his gaze turns blatantly hungry. “Wow.”

“Hey, nice shirt, dude.” Tennyson pushes past him. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” When Molly tries to get out of the elevator, he catches her by the hips, pushes her back in and follows. “Doors unlocked. We’ll be right back.”

He hits the ground button and then he’s crowding her until her back is pressed into the corner and his hands are hovering, not touching her waist. “What are you doing?” She whispers.

“I have no idea. I never know what I’m doing around you.” He swallows hard. “You look wonderful.”

“You do, too. A coward with the undershirt, but still. I was right about the color.”

He wants to say something reckless about how they could stay in and she could take the undershirt off of him, but he wants to play this right, wants her to know the depth of his feelings and he’s not even sure of those depths just yet but his mouth still says, “I keep thinking we’re going to kiss and it keeps not happening.”

Molly laughs a little, eyes darting to his lips and then back down as she moves her hands between them, suddenly finding her manicure so interesting. “Probably means it shouldn’t happen.”

“I want it to, though.”

There’s a long pause, long enough for Shawn’s heart to skitter to a stop and he decides if she says that’s not what she wants that he’ll work hard, so hard to just be her friend. Not just a friend, a great friend because it doesn’t matter how she’s in his life as long as she’s in it.

But her voice is small when she says, “I want that to happen to… but I shouldn’t.”

They hit the ground floor and no one gets on and he hits the button for Tennyson’s floor before turning back to her, not crowding this time but still close enough that he can cup her cheek and she grabs his wrist like she’s not sure if she wants to pull him in or push him away. “Why?”

She doesn’t say anything and when they reach Tennyson’s floor, he hits the ground button again and she laughs. “We can’t stay in the elevator all night.”

“Tell me why.”

“You’re…” she trails off, releasing his wrist when she realizes she’s still holding on to it. “Shawn, you have no idea how wonderful you are. But we can’t… we can’t do this. You’re 20-“

“I’m 21,” he protests. “I’m not a child.”

“And I’ll be 27 in October. That’s a significant gap.”

“Six years. That’s nothing.”

“I was in college before you were even in high school.”

“I don’t care! You shouldn’t care either.”

“Other people will definitely care.”

He moves back, one hand rising to tug at the back of his hair. “Fuck them, then! I’m not trying to be with anyone but you. I don’t care, Molly.”

But he would, she wanted to say. He would care when his friends or his fans made a snide remark. He’d care when she had an episode and locked up cold and tight. He’d care when he saw his friends having fun with young, thin models while he was saddled with an older, chunky, mentally ill girlfriend.

She doesn’t say any of that, though, just holds her hands up in defeat. “Let’s talk about this later, ok? Your friends are waiting. Just enjoy your birthday.”

“You’re not going to bolt on me, are you?” He asks, mouth set in a firm line.

It’s not fair to give him this shred of hope but she doesn’t want to ruin his birthday any more than she already has so she smooths the tension out of his face with the soft pads of her thumbs until he smiles again. “I’m not.”

Not tonight, at least.


End file.
